


Talk, Part I

by justanotheranonymouswriter



Series: The Intimacy Series [2]
Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Character Study, Communication, Established Relationship, Gen, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26432173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotheranonymouswriter/pseuds/justanotheranonymouswriter
Relationships: Donna Paulsen & Harvey Specter, Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter
Series: The Intimacy Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1920937
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	Talk, Part I

The first night they’re together, when he shows up at her door and knocks too hard, cracking the skin on his knuckles until they spot with blood, she doesn’t say a word. Neither does he, because everything is way, way too overwhelming and overstimulating, he has no idea what collection of words could possibly encompass what he’s feeling, and he’s pretty sure if she’d said so much as his name he would have immediately come in his pants. There’s also a decade’s worth of imaginings they both have and they both know about - they’ve hidden it in jokes about strawberries and whipped cream, or fake marriage proposals, but they know. They’d stared at each other, a couple of nights ago, when he’d nearly said something before Thomas showed up and pushed his way into the space that had opened up between Harvey and Donna and that Harvey was desperately, belatedly trying to close. They stared at each other as the elevator doors had slid shut. 

They had stared, and they knew. 

So when Harvey pushes himself past her door, and Donna up against her wall, he doesn’t say anything and neither does she. They don’t talk when he hitches his hips against hers and he realises she’s as out of control as he is when she immediately punches into an orgasm and moans, her voice half surprise and half need. They don’t talk when she takes his hand and leads him into the bedroom, eyes promising things he’s never even dared to fantasise about. They don’t talk when she stands him still at the foot of her bed and strips him to his skin, and they don’t talk while she undresses herself and he just stares, unbelieving and mute. 

The first night is pure instinct and there’s no time for anything other than skin on skin, of release, of finally, of forever, and the first they talk is when Harvey, exhausted from round… whatever it was, settles his body over hers, and, breathing slow through the last cracks of his orgasm and with his cock slowly softening inside her, says, “I looked around, and you weren’t there,” because he can’t think of any other way to explain what the hell just happened. They only manage a couple of minutes of hushed conversation before they’re both drifting off to sleep, exhausted and with the tickle of sweat cooling between them. 

All the quiet the first night means the second night catches Harvey completely by surprise. Because Donna talks. A lot. 

There’s the stuff he’s used to - the murmured ‘gods’ and ‘fucks’, the guttural punch of the word ‘there’ when he’s only arrived at her place a few minutes before but he’s got two fingers inside her up to his knuckles and he’s pushed his fingertips along her walls until he finds her g-spot. There’s the stuff he loves, the sound of his name being breathed against his earlobe, the hitched combination of breath and moan when she comes, the crack of her lungs stopping when her diaphragm spasms and her stomach clenches. 

And then there’s the unexpected of Donna telling him exactly what she wants. 

It’s the first time he’s ever heard ‘wait’ or ‘hold on’, and he feels a deep flush of insecurity when she stills his hand over her breast, and she’s not saying ‘more’ or ‘harder’ or ‘faster’. She says, instead, that she’s sensitive tonight. “Don’t pinch,” she says, taking his hand under hers, showing him how to press the fingerprint of his thumb flat over her and rub in slow, firm circles, the middle ground between tension and release. It’s such basic instruction that he feels a rush of self-consciousness go through him and he feels like a teenager again. It’s embarrassing, and he senses his cheeks flush, hopes she can’t see the blush under his skin.

He ducks his head away from her, distracting himself as he kisses his way down her torso, over her stomach, and she holds his hands over her breasts, murmuring, “no, like this,” when he tries to pull his hands away to scratch down her skin. She pushes his palms in circles over her breasts, showing him a shallow tease, and at the same time, says, “through my panties,” tells him going straight to her clit would be too much. 

Harvey’s vaguely annoyed by the instruction, even as he knows that it’s not so much frustration with Donna as it is at himself, because he’s known her for years and he’s fucking good at this so how can he be getting this so wrong?

He busies himself with the press of his mouth against her folds, feeling her damp under his tongue, and she slips a hand to the back of his head to guide him. He closes his mouth over her panties, over her pussy, kissing loosely and letting his tongue slide along her, fabric pressing in a little. She arcs her back, tells him to keep going, tells him how to press his tongue along her centre. She breathes a low ‘yes’ through her teeth when he finally nudges the bridge of his nose over her clit, then his mouth, teeth scraping lightly. 

He feels like he’s just starting to pull her to the edge, pull her to where all the heat pools in her belly and clenches her stomach muscles, when she hums, stills his head and nudges him upwards. 

Harvey frowns, confused, because he’s not sure what she’s doing, she’s completely unexpected and he’s completely out of his depth, which is not something he ever thought he’d feel in the middle of foreplay. And then she slips her hand down to his cock, asks him how he wants to be touched, and he stares blankly at her. It’s half because this isn't like any other time he's ever been with anyone, she's got him completely turned around and off his game, and it's half because he doesn’t know the answer and he’s embarrassed to say anything, because nobody’s ever asked him.

And that’s when she pauses, he can sense her still around his cock and against his skin, and he thinks, what the fuck is going on. 

He tries to shift the focus back to her, ducking his head into the side of her neck, but Donna gently stops him with a steady hand in the middle of his torso. He draws back, and she instinctively cups his jaw. 

“Harvey,” she says. “Is this okay?”

“If it isn’t, then we definitely need to talk about last night,” Harvey says, and even as the words come out he can feel the defensiveness, the obviousness of his humour and the way he’s trying to use it to hide how scared he is of whatever it is Donna’s doing. 

He’s never had someone stop him. Ever. 

“Harvey,” Donna says, “I just want to know what you want.”

“You,” he says, and Donna tips her head to the side. She’s looking at him with patience and a kind of vague concern that makes him feel uncomfortable even though he knows it probably shouldn’t.

“That’s very sweet, but that doesn’t help me,” Donna says.

She looks at him quietly for a long moment. He tries to wait her out, but she’s always been more patient than him, and eventually the silence grows so uncomfortable that he shifts against the steady of her fingerprints, plucking at the sheets like he does when he’s nervous. 

He hasn’t felt nervous with a woman since his first year at university. 

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say,” he answers, finally. 

“I want you to be honest.” she waves a hand, searching for an example. “Do you like having your nipples played with?”

_God_ , how embarrassing, and the way she’s looking at him, open and unjudging, is far, far too much. He tries to look away, but she won’t let him, her hand firm on his cheek. 

“Harvey,” she says, and there’s a question built into his name. “It’s okay.”

“Am I, I don’t know… messing this up?” he asks. Fucking hell, he’s mortified, and he’s never felt less competent than he does in this moment, other than the times where he was leaning into his first awkward fumblings with Victoria Elwyn in the back seat of his piece-of-shit car in high school and she’d had to teach him, more than once, how a bra worked. 

She blinks, genuinely surprised. “Why would you think that?” she asks.

“It’s just… I’ve never…” he waves his hand, embarrassed. 

“... Harvey, has nobody ever stopped you or told you what they wanted before?”

“No.” 

“Ever? Not in conversation or …” she blinks again, realising something. “Has nobody ever asked you what _you_ want?”

He shrugs. “I guess I just thought all this is meant to be…”

“Instinct?”

“Yeah.”

Donna thinks for a moment in the silence, pushes her hand through the hair at his temple. She’s gentle, tender, her eyes all belief and love, and he gets distracted for a moment in the rhythm of her fingertips against his scalp. He hums, and she smiles, says, “I didn’t know you liked that.”

“It’s relaxing,” he says. Relaxing isn’t the right word, not really, but he’s not sure how else to say the light rough of her fingernails against his head is peace. 

Donna scratches his scalp for a moment longer before tapping her fingers against his temple, making her point. “See?” she says. “You’re not meant to know all about this part of me yet. I don’t know much about you yet. I don’t know if you like to have your head rubbed. I don’t know if you like nipple play or how you want oral sex or if you like toys. I don’t know if you’ve ever been with more than one person or if you’d like to be, or if you’ve been with men, or if you have things you want to try that you’re afraid to talk about right now.”

He blushes, but Donna doesn’t, and murmurs a quiet ‘hey’ when he instinctively tries to avert his eyes again. “These are all things I want to learn about you. These are all the things I want you to learn about me. It’s okay that we don’t know this stuff yet.”

He’s starting to have the uncomfortable realisation that Donna doesn’t think that sex and intimacy are quite the same thing. 

“Its … I just know you so well already,” he says. “I figured this was just …”

“Part of the package?” She arcs an eyebrow at him. She’s somehow helping him see that everything he’s assumed about her, about him, about her and him together, is completely misguided without making him feel like a moron, which he supposes distantly that he is. 

“Yeah. It feels like talking about this is, I don’t know, robotic or clinical. Like it might suck all the excitement out of it or something.”

She kisses him then, tugging him towards him with the hand slipped under his jaw, and god, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling of actually kissing her instead of just imagining it. His eyes drift shut, and he can feel himself blinking out under the overwhelming feeling that is just being with Donna. 

She pulls in close, pressing the length of her body against his, shifts, says in his ear, “I promise you, Harvey, telling me what you want isn’t clinical.” She finds his earlobe between her teeth, tugs lightly, and breathes, “knowing what turns you on is fucking hot,” and he guess he agrees because his hips twitch involuntarily towards her and the low promise in her voice makes his lungs catch. 

“I want to make you come,” she says, and slicks a hand over his cock as she does. 

“Fuck. Donna.”

“Tell me,” she says, and he does. 


End file.
